Lessons Learned Too Late
by DuchessConlon
Summary: Marisa is a new intern at Restview Retirement Home. She's heard about old Mr. Conlon and she's nervous to meet him. He takes a fancy to her, however, and decides to tell her his story. A story about learning to appreciate love too late.
1. Default Chapter

AN: Well this is kind of a random idea, but now that I've started it I really like it.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own Newsies, yada, yada . . . I do own Marisa and the Restview Retirement Home  
  
Brooklyn, New York 1969  
  
Marisa Cottrell shuffled hesitantly along the institutional green tile of the hallway, prolonging her arrival at room 319 for as long as possible. This was the first time in the week she had been interning at Restview Retirement Home that she had been required to check on this particular patient, but she had heard the rumors. They hadn't said anything to her personally of course. They didn't want to spook the impressionable little intern, but she had heard the nurses talking amongst themselves. Mr. Conlon, they whispered, was old as dirt and mean as a snake. He would let his formidable temper loose for the smallest imagined offense. Finally Marisa could mince her steps no more. She had arrived. She poked her head hesitantly in the door. "Mr. Conlon?" she called softly. "Whaddaya want?" a voice from within the room demanded sharply. Marisa steeled herself and stepped fully into the room. "My name is Marisa," she announced boldly, "I've come to see if you need anything." "Marisa?" the voice was suddenly gentler, then with a sharp intake of breath the former sharp tone returned. "Go away, don't need your meddlin.'" Marisa considered slinking away, but she stiffened her resolve instead and said crisply, "I'm supposed to tidy up in here and I'm going to do it." There was a moment of silence, then a chuckle that sounded rusty from disuse. She moved forward cautiously until she saw the wizened old man propped up in the bed, his thin, pale lips curved into a mischevious looking smirk. "I'll be damned," he said, as though highly amused. "You'll watch your language if you please," Marisa retorted. The chuckle came again, this time a little less forced. "You're just like her," he said, shaking his head wonderingly. "Who?" Rather than answering her question, the old man painstakingly shifted himself to an upright position. "Let me tell you something," he began, "When you find love, don't let anything keep you from it. Not pride or a reputation, not anything. Just hold onto it for all you're worth and never let go." Marisa stared at him, mystified. "What are you talking about?" she asked. Mr. Conlon looked vaguely annoyed. "Well just listen and I'll tell you!" he said irritably. "I'm sorry, please go on." "Well, it all started in the fall of 1899. That's when I met her." 


	2. The New Girl

AN: Well lookie here! Another chapter, isn't it amazing? Let's see if I can keep up this pace :-) Funny thing about paragraphs . . . I put them in only they don't show up. So this time I went overboard with the enter key and hopefully it'll work . . . we'll just have to see.  
  
Disclaimer: I think we all know I don't own Newsies. If I did I'd be making a sequel, getting my fics published, etc, etc, etc . . . The song is "Carrickfergus." It was sung by Charlotte Church on her Enchantment album. I don't know who originally owned it if anyone. I have no idea what the subway schedule for New York in 1969 was, I completely made that up.  
  
Raider: thanks for reviewing!  
  
Morning Dew: your wish is my command ;-)  
  
Falco Conlon: stale waffle! haha  
  
Kaylee: yeah, he's old, been bouncing the idea of moving time forward WITHOUT time travel for awhile now, here is the result.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Brooklyn, New York September 1899  
  
Spot Conlon dusted his hands off in a satisfied gesture as he sold his last pape of the day, which did nothing but smear the ink that had accumulated on them. The sun had set a short time before and he was weary from a full day's work, but as he turned toward the docks and home there was a bounce in his step and he smiled to hear the jingling of a full pocket of money. He was close to the Brooklyn Bridge and he had made plenty of money from the day's sales, so he decided to head over to Irving Hall in Manhattan. He had heard there was a new singer there too.  
  
When he arrived at Medda's, Spot saw Jack and some of the boys and waved. Jack smiled and motioned him over to their table. "Heya, Spot," he greeted, "You hear about the new girl?" Spot nodded.  
  
"You suppose she's any good?"  
  
"Must be if Medda hired her."  
  
The newsies made small talk for a few minutes before the lights went down, then the show started. Medda performed the opener and a few standard variety acts followed. Then there was a drum roll and the announcer said, "And now, Miss Katarina Gordon in her vaudeville debut!"  
  
A slim girl wearing a teal satin gown walked confidently out to center stage. Her light brown hair was swept up, showcasing the fine bone structure of her face. The newsies and the rest of the audience waited in expectant silence as the girl stood composedly waiting. After a moment a haunting flute melody sounded from the orchestra. A moment later the girl took a breath and began to sing  
  
I wish I was in Carrickfergus  
  
Where the castle looks out to sea  
  
I would swim over the deepest ocean  
  
For my love to be with me  
  
But the sea is wide and I cannot swim over  
  
Nor have I the wings to fly   
  
I wish I had a handsome boatman  
  
To ferry me over, my love and I  
  
  
  
I wish I was in the land of Eire  
  
Where the mountains reach the sea  
  
Where flowers blossom as I do remember  
  
Where my true love came to me  
  
But the sea is wide, and I cannot swim over  
  
Nor have I the wings to fly   
  
Ah, to be back now in Carrickfergus  
  
To be together, my love and I  
  
To be together, my love and I  
  
  
  
I wish I was in Carrickfergus  
  
To be together, my love and I  
  
Spot sat in stunned silence as the last strains of the beautiful Celtic melody flowed over him and at last faded into silence. The sound of wild applause, cheers, and whistles jolted him back to reality. He dazedly clapped his hands, his eyes never leaving the girl who was curtseying demurely, calmly accepting the adoration of the crowd.  
  
Jack waved a hand in front of his friend's face. "Spot, you home?" There was no response. "SPOT!" he said loudly. The Brooklynite blinked and shook his head groggily.  
  
"What . . . where?"  
  
Jack tried to control the laugh welling up inside him, but after struggling for only a moment, gave up and howled with laughter. Spot scowled.  
  
"What's so funny, Jacky-boy?" he demanded in his usual "tough-guy" tone.  
  
Jack shook his head, laughing too hard to speak. After a few moments he was finally able to gasp out, "Spot Conlon . . . in love!" Jack fully expected to get soaked for this comment, but Spot just smirked, stood up, and headed backstage.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
1969  
  
Marisa grinned as she listened to Mr. Conlon tell his story. She could hear the same ornery disposition in his younger self as he had displayed earlier. There was something different though. A sadness tinged his voice now that seemed to disappear when he recalled his younger days. She wondered what had caused it and suspected it had to do with this very story. She realized that he had stopped talking. "Mr. Colon?"  
  
There was no sound from the bed. She looked over and saw that he had fallen asleep, as the very old are known to do quite suddenly and unexpectedly. She finished straightening the room, which was what she had come to do in the first place, and quietly slipped out.  
  
After her shift was over Marisa changed into her street clothes, wide bell bottom jeans and an embroidered peasant blouse. She brushed out her long, straight, light brown hair and checked her make-up in the mirror. Satisfied she grabbed her bag and hurried out the door and across the street to the subway station. She reached the tracks just as her train was pulling up. Once she had jumped on and grabbed a seat she heaved a sigh of relief. The next train didn't come for an hour so she couldn't afford to miss this one.  
  
When she emerged above ground in Manhattan forty-five minutes later the sun was low in the sky. She walked for a few blocks before stopping in front of a small deli. Large gold letters on the front window proclaimed the place to be "Tibby's." Marisa smoothed down her hair nervously before entering.  
  
Once inside she walked over to a booth near the back and sat down. "Hi, Gary. Sorry I'm late," she said, smiling self conciously. Gary Spencer grinned at his girlfriend.  
  
"You're not late," he insisted, "I was early."  
  
She didn't return his smile and figeted nervously. Gary picked up on this.  
  
"Hey what's the matter?" he asked, concerned, "Is it your grandmother?"  
  
She shook her head. "No, grandma's just fine," she assured him.  
  
He nodded. "So what did you want to talk about?"  
  
She bit her lip and looked around, anywhere but at him. I want to break up. But the words wouldn't come. Finally she said, "Never mind. It wasn't important."  
  
Gary shrugged. "All right then. Let's eat."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
AN: Liked it? Hated it? Had an opinion? Didn't have an opinion? Whatever, just push the button and let me know! 


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